


The One Where Dean Loses His Voice

by ratherbehere



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Gags, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Play, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-06
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-28 10:44:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/673506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbehere/pseuds/ratherbehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Cas never have enough time for sex, but Castiel is going to take his time this time. His goal? Mind-blowing sex that causes Dean to lose his voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Dean Loses His Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for destielmybeatingheart (tumblr),because I owed her. I was sitting around wondering why on Earth I promised porn when I don’t have the time, and then this happened. Dean and Cas have the same problem.

“Cas! Fuck, Cas!” Dean screams as Castiel’s tongue plunders his hole. He groans. “Damn it, we don’t have time for that, we have too much work-“

Dean is cut off when a hand slams over his mouth and his vision is suddenly filled with piercing blue eyes, Cas staring down at him. “Dean. Shut. Up. We will never have time, there will always be work, there will always be something to do. I’m tired of quick hand jobs in an alley. Right now, I’m going to fuck you stupid. I’m going to fuck you until you forget about the case, until you forget about Sam waiting at the library. I’m going to make you scream and beg and come so hard you’ll pass out. Now are you onboard with this plan or do I need to tie you down?”

Dean’s eyes widen. He wraps a hand around Castiel’s wrist and tugs lightly. Cas isn’t even remotely fazed by it, and somehow that shoots a bolt of pleasure to Dean’s groin. Cas waits another second –just to make sure his point gets through- before removing his hand.

Dean gasps, and then rasps out in a deep, scratchy voice, “Hell yes I’m onboard for that plan, but I think you should tie me up anyway, Jesus fucking Christ.”

Castiel’s nostrils flare. He snaps his fingers, and suddenly Dean’s arms are tied to the bedposts by rope. Rope, Dean vaguely notes before Castiel speaks again, that smells like the trunk of the Impala. “And if you blaspheme like that again I will have to gag you as well.”

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” Dean says with a twist of his lips. “Cas, you are one kinky ang-“

Dean’s cut off when Castiel’s tie is shoved in his mouth.

Dean blinks up at Cas, slightly stunned, and totally aroused. This is why he loves sex with Cas, these little displays of power and dominance. Sure, some women enjoyed power play, but there was never any actual power to back it up. This was totally different. Not only does Cas have the strength and power to back it up, but Dean trusts him completely. He _loves him_ completely. And it goes both ways. Sometimes it’s Dean, pounding into Cas, and then it’s the powerful, angelic being screaming and moaning and begging for Dean. (Sometimes they fuck slowly and carefully and hold each other tenderly but Dean would never admit to those times out loud.) His sexual relationship with Cas is completely thrilling and satisfying in ways he’d never dreamed. And damn it all, the angel was right. They’ve been settling for less far too often lately.

Dean jerks against the ropes when teeth graze his nipple. Castiel bites, verging just on the edge of too hard, just the way Dean likes it, and he groans around the silky fabric of the tie.

“I like making you moan,” Castiel mumbles as he pulls off the nipple and replaces teeth with fingers. “I wonder how much I can make you moan,” he muses, before repeating the treatment to the other nipple, earning him another throaty sound. “I wonder if I can make you lose your voice through moans and groans alone.”

Dean eyes roll back in his head at the thought. Cas is going to kill him through sex. But what a way to go.

Cas continues nipping and lavishing and pinching his nipples until Dean is thrashing against the ropes in overwhelming sensation. Cas is certainly on the right track for accomplishing all of his goals this evening. Dean’s toes are curling in the sheets and Castiel hasn’t even touched his dick yet. He tries to yell at Cas, to tell him to get on with it, but it sounds only vaguely different than his normal, unintelligent sounds.

Eventually Cas takes mercy on his nipples and breaks off. Dean groans again, and this time it’s in relief. He’s panting so hard, he can barely get enough breath in, and he’s already seeing stars. Unfortunately, the break from the onslaught of sensation, the peppered kisses and sucks and licks on his stomach being far less over-stimulating, is short lived.  
It ends when Castiel’s mouth finds his dick.

Fucking brilliant angel with the sexiest, most talented mouth _ever_. He can get Dean off with that mouth in record time if he really wants to put all his tricks to use. But he never does, because he also learned the perfect optimal timing and pacing, having discovered that a race to the end isn’t always the most satisfying, to bring Dean to completion and ruin and heaven all at once. Castiel knows exactly what buttons to press and when, even when Dean doesn’t know it himself.

And the bloody angel is using all of that knowledge and skill to drive him absolutely insane. He’s not trying to get Dean off, just bring him to the edge before backing down. Rinse and repeat. Any second and a flicker of his tongue at the crown of the head, a flutter of his throat when Dean’s dick is buried to the hilt, and Dean would explode. And there’s no doubt about it, that’s what it would be. An explosion.

But it never happens. Cas just backs off, grips him at the base, and peppers some kisses on his thighs until he calms down. Which, calming down is getting harder and harder to do. He honestly isn’t sure his heart should be pounding this hard, and his wrists are going to burn like hell for weeks where the rope is chaffing. (Cas would heal it if he asked, but he never asks.) Worse, his throat _is_ starting to feel a little funny. Cas is going to make him mute through fantastic sex. _Damn_.

Just when he’s sure he isn’t going to calm down again, that simply one more press of Castiel’s lips were going to push him over the edge, Castiel stops. He’s sliding lower, his nose tickling Dean’s pubic hair, and suddenly his legs are pushed up, back and apart, and a little wet tongue is darting at his hole.

He’s pretty sure he actually screams this time, and he’s grateful for the gag. This would be a really bad time for hotel management to come knockin.

Cas presses his tongue in as far as he can and licks at him before pulling back out and flicking around the edge, teasing his hole, before plunging back in. Dean’s moaning appreciation, curses and useless words getting lost in the tie, and soon a finger is sliding in next to Castiel’s tongue. Dean bucks, and bucks again when the finger finds his prostate.

He has no idea how he hasn’t come yet, and Castiel apparently agrees with the sentiment because he suddenly backs off. Dean looks down at Cas, whose finger is still curling and thrusting gently, but Cas has sat up. He now has a tube of lube in his hand, and it looks like the same one that was in his bag. He flicks it open before realizing Dean is watching him and turns to meet his eyes.  
He smirks. Castiel actually smirks at Dean, the smug, feathered bastard.

“Do you feel good Dean? Are you enjoying this?” Castiel asks. Dean’s response is to grind his hips down on Castiel’s finger. Castiel chuckles, “Always so impatient.” Which, Dean thinks, is unfair, considering that was sort of Castiel’s entire point in all this.  
He pulls the finger out, coats it in lube, and slides it back in. The smooth glide so good, Dean moans again, earning another chuckle from Castiel. Cas thrusts his finger slowly as he folds himself over Dean and kisses his neck. The sudden sensation from an unexpected, unexplored sensitive spot sends pleasure down Dean’s spine and to his dismay, another throaty sound gets by.  
Castiel continues to bite and suck at his neck, eliciting sounds he doesn’t think there are classifications for, as he adds another finger.

“So perfect, Dean,” Castiel breathes into his ear, “so beautifully, maddeningly perfect.”

Dean loses track of time after that. All that exists is Castiel and pleasure. That is all that has ever existed and all that ever will. Beautiful, slender fingers brushing his prostate, teeth grazing his neck, lips sucking at his ear… this is it. This is life. This is death.  
“I’m going to fuck you now, Dean,” Castiel growls in his ear as he shifts about. Dean thinks he tries to growl back a, “hell yes,” but even without the tie, he’s pretty sure that’s not what would have come out.

Castiel sinks into Dean’s body, and Dean’s eyes roll back in his head with the beautiful, tight slide of it. Dean’s not even sure how many fingers Castiel had been up to, because he stopped being aware of pretty much anything, but he’s sure it was more than two. It’s usually not _that_ smooth.

Dean arches into Cas as Cas begins to move, working his hips as much as his restraints let him. He’s been reduced to a wild rutting animal, trying desperately to find release. And that sensation, of Castiel’s dick pounding into him, pounding his prostate, is all he is aware of until teeth close over a nipple.

He screams again. His nipples hadn’t recovered from the earlier onslaught. They’re hypersensitive, and the shock nearly pushes him over the edge. Nearly, but doesn’t. He whimpers. He begs. But either Castiel doesn’t hear, or he ignores his pleas.  
Cas pulls off his nipples to grab Dean’s knees, and roughly shoves them up. It effectively lifts Dean’s hips off the bed and takes away his leverage. He can’t arch, can’t thrust back into Cas any more.

He recognizes this fact for all of a second, because the new angle has Castiel thrusting so hard, so perfectly into him, that he simply can’t take it anymore. He’s rushing towards orgasm, head on, and as the pleasure crests and his vision blacks out and another scream is muffled, he hears Cas say, “ _Jesus_ fucking _Christ_ , Dean,” and that, that is not fair.

~

Dean comes back to consciousness to the sound of some god-awful pop singer singing something about, “loving angels instead,” coming from his phone. This means two things. One, Sam is dead for messing with his phone. And two, Sam is calling him, probably to ask him why the fuck he hasn’t called or picked him up, or blah blah blah. Sometimes, Dean wonders when he married his brother.  
A weight shifts on him, and Castiel floods his vision as he sits up and looks down at Dean, a soft smile on his face. “Sam,” he says simply. He waves his hand, and the ropes and tie disappear. Dean rubs his wrists as he looks for his phone. Fortunately, he placed it on the nightstand, and they hadn’t knocked it off.

He flips it open and says, “Sammy.”

Well, he tries to say, “Sammy.” What comes out is a raspy, whiney thing that maybe starts with an S and ends with a Y.

Castiel chuckles and takes the phone from Dean’s hand. “Sam,” he says, “Dean has lost his voice. No, he’s not in danger.” Dean hears Sam talking a mile a minute on the other side. “No- Sam. Sam. You’re smart, take a guess.”

There is a pause on the other end and then Dean clearly hears Sam proclaim, “Oh! Gross!”

Castiel smiles. “We’ll be there in 10 minutes, Sam.” Dean elbows him in the side, tries to say, “shower,” and fortunately he doesn’t need verbal communication with Cas. “Uh, 30 minutes. Yes. Bye.”

They head to the bathroom, where Dean does a double take in the bathroom mirror. His neck is completely covered in hickeys, his nipples are swollen and red, his wrists are red raw and chaffed, and now that he’s thinking about it, more than a few muscles are sore. He tries to speak, but it comes out as croak, so he shoots a dirty look to Cas.

Cas smirks and slips into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind him.


End file.
